It’s lonely being a lesbian-centered feminist full of self-righteous anger. Remembering what it was like before 2016, before a lot more women got a lot more mad. Hiding my fierceness when it came to demanding change. It’s sad now to be solo again on Themyscira. Wandering this lush Mediterranean paradise, surrounded by vine-covered statues of powerful warrior women, wondering where the rest of the ladies have gone.
They have gone to see Wonder Woman of course. They are hanging at the after-party feeling awesome and empowered. Yet here I remain. Glad for my sisters, though melancholy and wary of betraying myself or my allies. There’s a lot of pressure to love the less oppressive scraps you’re thrown. But let me try and sell you my alone-on-an-island travelogue about opting out of the Wonder Woman love-fest.
I WANT to adore this film. Who wouldn’t lose their mind over the very idea of Wonder Woman getting her very own story vehicle? Every white woman alive in the United States has an ‘I can fight evil’ star-spangled Underoos memory. We finally got our childhood heroine all to ourselves for a WHOLE ONE MOVIE. Plus, we got twenty minutes of Sapphic paradise at the beginning. It was like the lady-version of an ad for a Roman-themed circuit-party on Majorca. Those Amazonian real-athlete women of many ages and peoples were legit, and they were built.
Read the rest on HuffingtonPost.